The unexpressive man whose life expressed so much.

guess,

Piling its thunder-heads and muttering

Cease!"

AN ODE

FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY, 1976.

I. 1.

ENTRANCED I saw a vision in the cloud That loitered dreaming in yon sunset sky, Full of fair shapes, half creatures of the

eye,

Half chance-evoked by the wind's fantasy In golden mist, an ever-shifting crowd: There, mid unreal forms that came and went

In air-spun robes, of evanescent dye, A woman's semblance shone pre-emineut;

Not armed like Pallas, not like Hera proud,

But, as on household diligence intent, Beside her visionary wheel she bent Like Aretë or Bertha, nor than they Less queenly in her port: about her knee

Glad children clustered confident in play: Placid her pose, the calm of energy; And over her broad brow in many a round

(That loosened would have gilt her garment's hem),

Succinct, as toil prescribes, the hair was wound

In lustrous coils, a natural diadem. The cloud changed shape, obsequious to the whim

Of some transmuting influence felt in

And turned with loftier brow and firmer

stride;

For in that spectral cloud-work I had

seen

Her image, bodied forth by love and pride,

The fearless, the benign, the mothereyed,

The fairer world's toil-consecrated queen.

2.

What shape by exile dreamed elates the mind

Like hers whose hand, a fortress of the poor,

No blood in vengeance spilt, though lawful, stains?

Who never turned a suppliant from her door?

Whose conquests are the gains of all mankind?

To-day her thanks shall fly on every wind,

Unstinted, unrebuked, from shore to shore,

One love, one hope, and not a doubt behind!

Cannon to cannon shall repeat her praise, Banner to banner flap it forth in flame; Her children shall rise up to bless her

Seven years long was the bow
Of battle bent, and the heightening
Storm-heaps convulsed with the throe
Of their uncontainable lightning;
Seven years long heard the sea
Crash of navies and wave-borne thunder;
Then drifted the cloud-rack a-lee,
And new stars were seen, a world's
wonder ;

Each by her sisters made bright,
All binding all to their stations,
Cluster of manifold light
Startling the old constellations :
Men looked up and grew pale:
Was it a comet or star,
Omen of blessing or bale,
Hung o'er the ocean afar?

4.

Stormy the day of her birth:
Was she not born of the strong,
She, the last ripeness of earth,
Beautiful, prophesied long?
Stormy the days of her prime:
Hers are the pulses that beat
Higher for perils sublime,
Making them fawn at her feet.
Was she not born of the strong?
Was she not born of the wise?
Daring and counsel belong
Of right to her confident eyes :
Human and motherly they,
Careless of station or race :
Hearken her children to-day
Shout for the joy of her face.